terrified_of_being_dull crOwl bottles of warm yerba mate clinking in the soiled door pocket of my truck sound the second alarm on this saturated saturday. the first coming three hours earlier, a mild electronic buzzing, when tragic recurring dreams no longer scare me, only serving to entertain. i'm on my way, eating a hurridely prepared roasted red pepper and mozzarella sandwich, dripping mayo on my coat, to remove wet, heavy leaves from tired grass, working like a robot of myself until the sun sinks, a letter into an smudged sky envelope, sealed with dirt and spit. then i put my glasses on so i can see my way back home. 061119 ... . a---not an 061119 ... unhinged terrified even more still of being silent the way we looked at each other when there were no words he was vulnerable with me today and i wanted to take his face in my hands so terrified of being dull terrified that at the heart of it that's all he is i was never so bold to stare until him beginning to stay even after he looks away my eyes touching him the way i am terrified to gentle insistent trying hard to deny it i think i could tell him anything everything terrified he won't want to listen paralyzed almost to inertia my eyes touching him i shake slightly terrified falling in slow motion 061119 ... redness . 061122 ... crOwl tipping the bottle of magic potion to my lips, i'm looking at the nine o'clock sun taped to the blue sky through the glass. the splash of light shimmies and it shakes on the amber-colored yerba mate as my boot taps against the dried mud of the truck's floor to the sloppy garage/blues rock of the black keys. frost is melting drip by drop from stubborn oak leaves, blinking like diamonds on the fingers of sister winter and then falling with the weight of the apocolyptic world to the velvety wet grass. everythng falls down to a place of rest, i tell myself, swallowing. 061124 ... unhinged i'm not trying to impress you even_more terrified_of_being_cool even_more terrified_of_being_sweet 070119 what's it to you? who go blather from